


Controlled Burn

by releasetheglitch



Series: When We Start [3]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: BDSM, Cock Cages, Dom/sub, Domestic, M/M, Punishment, Service Kink, believe it or not those last two tags aren't even related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 20:41:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3147905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/releasetheglitch/pseuds/releasetheglitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are certain things that are expected of Q.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Controlled Burn

**Author's Note:**

> Purple_gs requested: I'd love to see something not related to a big scene, just like normal discipline or chores, or just their normal actions as part of a 24/7 BDSM relationship.
> 
> Sorry for the long wait! This was harder to write than I expected, and truth be told there were several times when I nearly scrapped the story in its entirety. I'm still not 100% happy with it, but figured I might as well just post it instead of fiddling with it hundreds of times a day. Hope you guys like, and send in a request if there's anything you'd like to see in this universe!

"Target terminated," said double-oh seven calmly into his earpiece, and Q breathed a sigh of relief, his body relaxing for the first time in a week. James' latest assignment was relatively straightforward; a simple assassination of an extremist leader who had recently popped up on MI6’s radar. Thankfully, even their most destructive agent hadn’t found a way to make major landmarks explode or engage in reckless car chases. He wanted to cheer in celebration, or do a jig right there in the middle of Q-branch.

Still, as the quartermaster of MI6, he had to maintain a facade of authority around his employees. "Understood, double-oh seven," he replied in just as professional a tone. "The retrieval team will be there in under an hour. Please refrain from blowing anything up until then."

Bond's reply was lazy, casually amused. "Wouldn't dream of it, my dear Q." A pause on the other end of the line. "By the way, what time is it over there?"

Q frowned, taking note of his surroundings. A half full mug of earl grey had long gone cold on his desk. He took a sip of it anyway, his stomach rumbling plaintively, and promptly spat it back out. Disgusting. Most of his staff were still there, fortunately, and he waved one of the interns over to refill his mug.

"Only four in the afternoon. If all goes well you'll be home by eight tonight. _After_ you report back to M, of course."

James hummed noncommittally, which Q took to mean _don't count on it_ in Bond-speak.

His light, relaxed feeling dissipated with the next words, delivered in a deceptively nonchalant voice. "And when was the last time you ate?"

Q winced, counting the hours frantically in his head. Judging from the hollow, gnawing sensation in his stomach, his dominant wouldn't like his answer. He hesitated a moment too long, and Bond's voice sharpened. "Q?"

"Um. Eleven o'clock?" His voice grew smaller. "Last night."

He could hear Bond's disappointment as the man sighed, and winced in shame. One of their first rules was that Q was to take care of his body properly when Bond was away on missions. He had at least maintained a normal sleep schedule, if only because Bond had terrorized his minions into locking him out of MI6 once it reached a certain time of night. But he had been so absorbed in the details of his lover's mission, watching over the cams for any sign that the mission was about to go tits-up and obsessing over minute details that the meals brought to him by his minions grew cold and congealed and were brought away untouched and he simply failed to notice.

Not that that was any sort of excuse, of course.

"We're going to talk about this once I get home." Yeah, he bet they were. And he bet they wouldn't stop at simply talking. "For now, I want you to go eat."

"Alright. Yes. I'll just...go now," Q mumbled lamely as he disconnected the call. Avoiding eye-contact with the Q-branchers, who had heard his half of the conversation and were watching him with varying degrees of sympathy and amusement, he slumped down to the cafeteria.

So much for professionalism.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"You look like something the cat dragged in," said Eve cheerfully as she plopped down beside him. Q, glaring at her with a mouthful of baked chicken, didn't dignify that with a reply.

"Aw, shouldn't you be a bit perkier? I heard your man was coming home today. Bet he has something fun planned for you two!"

"Shouldn't you be working?" he retorted, and instantly regretted his words when a hurt expression settled over her playful features. "Fuck, I'm sorry Eve. It's just that James is peeved at me for forgetting to eat again and it rather spoiled the mood."

Eve winced. She was the only one of his MI6 friends that knew the truth about his relationship with double-oh seven. That is, with the exception of Alec. But he didn't count. Double-oh six was more likely to make him squawk at a lewd joke about ropes and whips than be any good in soothing his black mood. Still, he loved them both fiercely. Despite how much he adored James and where they had taken their relationship, being submissive to the man twenty-four hours of the day could occasionally get draining and he needed his friends to keep him grounded.

"You know he's only upset because he wants you to take care of yourself," she smiled at him sympathetically.

"I know," Q sighed, poking forlornly at a piece of wilted lettuce. "To be honest, I'm not best pleased with myself either."

"Is he…" Eve hesitated, discomfort flickering at the edges of her eyes, and Q understood. Eve was open about her own sex life and unabashedly curious about his own. But she was also completely vanilla.

Not that there was anything wrong with that. But Eve could not understand the contract he and James had proudly written themselves into, not completely, as was evidenced by the latter portion of her question. "Is he going to hurt you?"

Q blinked at her. "I expect so. That's rather the point, is it not?"

She huffed out a frustrated breath, strands of curly hair blowing into her face. "Oh, you know what I mean! Is he going to hurt you in, you know, a _bad_ way?"

That question was equally as unanswerable as the previous one. When James first gifted Q with his collar, they had defined the boundaries of what James could and could not demand from Q. His access to his laptops, for example, was non-negotiable. Least of all because M would have Bond's head on a platter if he even tried to restrict the quartermaster's access to a computer.

Besides, Q himself would delete his existence from the face of the Earth if he ever attempted it.

But there were things that were solely under James' control. At the top of the list: punishments. Any transgressions or disobedience on Q's part was to be handled as James saw fit, and Q was to accept his dominant's authority without protest.

So as much as Q might hate the punishment, he still delighted in ceding control over this aspect of his life. In being a good boy for James, and letting the man guide him back into line when he was not.

Eve,  for all her wisdom about relationships, would not understand this need of his.

"Nothing I haven't agreed to," he said instead, smiling reassuringly. That was true enough, at least.

Eve narrowed her eyes at him, but let it slide. "If you say so. But just give me the word and I'll shoot him again for you. Now, have you heard about the cock-up down in Biomed? Apparently some daft cow ordered six thousand cases of test tubes instead of just sixty. M's been ranting about it all morning."

Q laughed, letting her melodious voice wash over him. Eve may not be able to help with his relationship problems, but she was a good friend.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Q arrived home at six-thirty, a rarity for him when his dominant wasn't home. He had completed his post-mission report in record time, emailing it to M (the man still had trouble looking him in the eye after an incident in the storage room a month ago) after a cursory read through. It gave him just enough time for him to prepare for James' return that night.

He showered briefly, letting the warm water pound at his sore back and gritty eyes from a day spent hunched over a computer monitor. The streams of water cascaded down the bars of the cock cage he wore when James was away on a mission and he fingered the cold metal forlornly. It wasn’t that James didn’t trust him to control himself when he wasn’t there. They both knew that Q had the skill to simply pick the lock if he so chose. It was more symbolic than anything else, the idea that Q’s orgasms were entirely under James’ control. That he came when he was allowed and not a moment before. It was a sentiment he adored, yet at the same time frustrated him beyond imagination.

After his shower, Q dressed in a comfortable pair of silk lounge trousers and a black t-shirt. Many submissives he knew went naked at home, but both he and James agreed that it would be too impractical; a major security risk considering their line of work. A shame, really. He did have a very fine arse.

To be perfectly honest, he and James did not have what most would consider to be a typical Dom/sub relationship, for reasons primarily related to MI6 responsibilities. As the quartermaster, Q technically held seniority over James and was required to order him around in the field. It also meant that he usually went home after James did, and could not welcome his dominant's return the way he wanted to. In fact, it was often James who greeted a bone-weary Q as he stumbled through the door, offering slow massages and a dinner kept warm while Q purred gratefully. They rarely went to clubs, or attended play parties with other kinky couples. It was rather amusing, the fact that they were atypical even within such a fringe community.

But he did have his share of responsibilities to fulfill. Like now, straightening up the flat, dusty with neglect as it usually was when James was away on a mission. Like phoning in an order for delivered Thai that would arrive minutes before James did. Like laying out the takeaway containers on the table and kneeling down by the door to wait patiently for the click of Bond's key in the lock, back straight and wrists crossed behind his back.

Like taking care of himself when James wasn't around.

Bugger. He was in so much trouble.

It wasn't as if James punished him cruelly or arbitrarily. He was never scolded for small things like dropping a plate or leaving the coffeemaker on too long. Most of his major infractions, according to James, involved threats to his safety. Q still remembered the way James raged the day he came home exhausted and fell asleep right on the couch, the front door still wide open.

Contrary to popular belief, being chained to the bed for a day was nowhere near as fun as it sounds. Especially when he wasn't even allowed a book to entertain him.

Then the lock was turning and the sharp silhouette of James entered his line of vision and despite his apprehension, Q couldn't help the slow crawl of a grin from sliding up his face as he laid eyes on his lover. It was obvious that he had not, in fact, stopped at MI6 before coming home. His suit was still dusty and torn, and rather alarming splotches of blood littered the once pristine fabric. His eyes, gorgeous blue eyes that they were, were creased with weary lines that always betrayed his true age in times like these. But they lit up when they landed on Q, who rose to his feet to meet him in a passionate kiss.

"Welcome home, sir," Q smiled when James finally pulled away, removing his suit jacket for him as James carded a hand through his hair affectionately. "How was the flight?"

"Long. Frustrating. I was thinking about coming home to you the whole time," James teased.

Q could feel his cheeks heat up with pleasure that never went away, no matter how many sappy lines James used on him. He busied himself with unstrapping the man's thigh holster and removing his only slightly-scratched weapons, placing them on the hallway table so he'll remember to bring them in to collections tomorrow. “Can I run you a bath?” he asked.

“Please.”

Q was beginning to think that James had forgotten about his earlier mistake when the man spoke again.

“So tell me Q, what exactly did you have for lunch today?”

His fingers slipped where they had been unbuttoning James’ shirt (and revealing the newly acquired jagged scar donning one shoulder blade). “A chicken sandwich and a salad,” he mumbled, not meeting his dominant’s eyes.

Of course, James wouldn’t have that. Taking a handful of Q’s scruffy hair, he tugged harshly until Q exhaled in a sharp gasp of pain and looked up, examining his face closely for any sign of a lie. Seemingly satisfied with what he saw, he released the other man and stepped into the warm bath, eyes slipping closed almost immediately with bliss. “And dinner?”

Q quickly rid himself of his own clothes and knelt by the tub, stretching upwards so he could rub shampoo into James’ hair. “I’ve ordered Thai food from that place on Norfolk you like. Steamed prawns, sour sausages, chargrilled vegetables, and pad thai.”

“Good boy.” James kissed him on the nose, and Q glowed under the praise.

They made small talk while Q washed James clean, meticulously avoiding his shoulder wound. Little, inconsequential stories about the new camera Q was developing in the lab and the sights James had seen on his mission. James still had not directly addressed the issue of Q’s disobedience, and as Q towel-dried them, first James then himself, he could not help the slight waves of anxiety that rippled through him. He would much rather James simply meted out his displeasure, instead of making him wait and stretching out the suspense.

But then again, that wasn’t his decision to make.

James cleared his throat, and with a start Q realized that his dominant was still naked, watching him with a cocked eyebrow and waiting for Q to fulfill his duties and dress him. Dammit, he had been so consumed by his earlier mistake that it was making him distracted. Muttering an apologetic "excuse me", he wiped away the condensation that had formed on his spectacles and fetched the clean clothes he had laid out for James—cotton pyjama bottoms, house slippers, and a button up top that could be put on without disturbing any tender areas. He helped James into the pants before gesturing to the rim of the tub for James to sit down so he could guide the slippers over the man's feet. He was rewarded with another kiss.

Next was to address Bond's injuries. The quartermaster part of Q wanted to order double-oh seven down to Medical so he can get the assistance he needs. But most of him, the submissive, servile part of him that existed in private moments like these preened at the fact that James Bond, stubborn, independent man that he was, allowed Q and Q alone to tend to his wounds. That his service was valued over that of anyone else.

"You look good on your knees for me," James rumbled in a low growl as Q dabbed antibiotic cream over the shallower cuts and scrapes.

Q shifted, his cock straining inside its merciless prison at the possessive edge to James' voice. He tried to ignore James as he trailed his fingers down his chest, brushing over Q's nipples teasingly, but a small moan escaped when rough fingers reached out to pinch at the rosy buds.

"Such a beautiful, obedient slave." Q twitched at the moniker, rarely used except to tease him and James continued with a barely-there smirk. "Looks so fucking debauched, sitting naked with your mouth right in front of my cock. You're aching for it, aren't you? I see the heat pooling in your groin, all that lovely frustration with nowhere to go. Because you know your pleasure belongs to me."

"Sir, please," Q tried as he picked up the butterfly plasters for the deeper cuts, his hands trembling with the need to pull down his dominant's pants and take that whole length into his mouth.

James chuckled, the sound darkly amused. "Begging already? Needy little slut, aren't you?" Q fumbled and taped a plaster onto his own finger by accident. "I'm going to turn you into a puddle of frustration before the night is through. Your sweet voice hoarse and broken with screams. And after I've pushed you so far you can't even remember who you are...I'll push you even harder." The last part, delivered in a seductive whisper as Q tried to align a plaster onto the last cut, his pupils blown and so dark that it was a wonder he could see through the haze of lust that James' words conjured.

"Done!" Q gasped finally, leaning backwards and panting hard. He knew, logically, that James was much too tired for a proper shag that night. Perhaps some groping, a blowjob at most. But certainly not the intense scene that James had teased him with. Still, after a week without relief, his body craved the feeling of James pounding him open, pinning him down and pressing so hard the bruises felt imprinted into his skin.

James stood up, expression innocently blank now as Q pulled the shirt over him, all traces of innuendo seemingly wiped clean. "I'm feeling a tad thirsty. Pour me a drink to go with dinner," he threw without looking at Q.

"Of course, sir." Q threw his own clothes on and padded ahead of James into the kitchen, where he poured the man a glass of Dom Pérignon. He took a moment to himself to press his hand against the cock cage he wore that forced down his erection, keeping him painfully soft and unable to seek relief. Barely an hour since James had returned, and he was already in such a state that he wanted nothing more to throw himself at the man's feet and plead for release. That was the effect James had on him.

When he returned to the dining room, James had already opened the boxes of takeout and was poking in appreciation at the glistening red slices of sausages. He nodded in thanks as Q set the drink down before him, and Q was about to sink down to his knees at James' feet when he was stopped with a yank to his hair.

"Not tonight," said James firmly before snaking an arm around Q's waist and pulling him onto his lap.

Q could feel the heavy weight of James' erection pressing against his arse and he shifted minutely, grinding almost unconsciously against its heat. A sharp slap to his side halted his movements and he met James' stern gaze apologetically as he opened his mouth obediently for a strand of pad thai.

A hand wormed its way into his pants as James leaned forward for a bite of food, closing around his cock cage and holding it possessively. Q could feel the man's hot breath behind his neck, the planes of his muscled body pressing hard and unyielding against his own soft flesh, the movement of his hand as he stroked over the cage, and he felt enclosed by the man's presence. Owned by him in every way possible. His body only moving when he opened his mouth for James to feed him.

"Full now?" James asked finally, and Q nodded, burrowing into James' body heat. He was knackered, and wanted nothing more than to fall into bed with his dominant. First though, he slid off James' lap, exhaling a breath of relief that he couldn't feel the man's erection any longer as he cleared away their takeout containers.

James waited until he was finished before speaking again. "In that case, I think it's time we had a chat about your recent behaviour."

Strong hands pressed down on his shoulders and he knelt before the man, his heart stuttering in apprehension at the serious look he saw.

"Yes sir," Q sighed.

"Would you care to explain why you've been disobeying my orders this past week?"

"I..." Q shuffled on his knees, letting the sharp bite of tiles against bone settle him as he collected his thoughts. "I'm sorry sir. I got too wrapped up in work and forgot your rules. It won't happen again."

James shook his head in disappointment and Q's heart clenched. He hated putting that look on James' face. It was the worst punishment he could imagine, even worse than being whipped or denied his orgasm. "Do you know why I'm angry?" James continued, his tone cold.

"I neglected to take care of your property, sir."

A nod. "And?"

"And by compromising my own health, I put your safety at risk. I should have kept your best interests in mind."

"Good boy." Q leaned desperately into that bit of approval, his hands trembling where they were crossed at his back as James continued. "What do you think your punishment should be?"

Q hated this part. It was humiliating to ask to be punished, sure, but even worse to know that he was the one who had suggested whatever was inflicted on him. "Not a beating, since it's entirely possible that I'll enjoy it too much," he mused, and James nodded in agreement. "Nothing sexual either, since my disobedience wasn't sexual in nature. It should be something that helps me remember my role in this relationship. Perhaps writing lines? Something along the lines of 'I will not neglect to take care of my dominant's property.'"

"I think that should do nicely. Five hundred lines, I won't make you stay up tonight to finish them but I expect the lines to be complete within the next three days. Also, you'll sleep at my feet for the next week."

Swallowing hard, Q nodded. The lines were bad enough, considering his aversion toward anything so primitive as pen and paper. But the thought of not being able to sleep wrapped up in James' arms was an emotional blow. Q was extremely tactile, loving nothing more than to feel the skin of his lover pressing against every inch of his own.

At least he would have a small bit of physical contact. Being made to sleep on the floor, or worse, another room, would have broken him.

Seeing the look on Q's face, James drew him up into his lap again and let Q bury his face in his neck. “Shh, darling,” he whispered tenderly, the cold expression now gone, replaced by something sweeter. Affectionate. “You know our punishments are for your own good. If you enjoyed them, they wouldn’t be very effective.”

“Yes sir,” Q mumbled, his voice muffled by James’ shirt. Blast it, he did know. What's more, he wanted it. He wanted to be disciplined by James, so he would not repeat the mistake in the future.

"Let's go to bed now," James suggested, biting his earlobe in a playful manner so at odds with the solemn atmosphere only a few minutes prior. Q shivered minutely, still frustrated from the week's denial, not to mention James' teasing. " I've missed your body, and intend to reacquaint myself with it intimately."

Q squealed as he was thrown over a broad shoulder (not the injured one, he noted distantly) and carried unceremoniously away, his bare feet scrambling for purchase. His spectacles threatened to slide off his nose and he grasped at them wildly, wriggling in the inextricably tight grip.

"Bond!" he gasped, and was rewarded for his impertinence with a teasing slap to his arse.

"Ask nicely," James growled, kicking the bedroom door in instead of opening it like a normal person.

_Heathen_ , thought Q fondly. "Please?" he said instead, adopting a sugar-sweet tone and pouting innocently. Then he was being tossed onto the large bed, clothes practically torn off of him as blunt teeth nipped at his sensitive skin.

And hours later, when a satisfied, sweaty Q curled up at James' feet and cushioned his head on the man's calves, the last thing he processed before falling under the rising tides of sleep was the sound of gravelly humming. A lullaby, rusty and out of tune, but heartfelt nonetheless. Q smiled dreamily. It sounded like security, like home, like love. It sounded like James.

 


End file.
